Any attempt to capture the essence of a wizard’s craft into a few words of wisdom would often result in a variation of the phrase ‘knowledge is power.’ After all, only a mage could directly convert mental effort into physical force. This feat was most often achieved through rigorous study and practical application of the science of spellcraft, which was where the aforementioned cliche stemmed from. A more basic method of manifesting one’s magic was conjuration, also called ‘wild magic.’ It was the first technique all aspiring mages learned and it basically boiled down to throwing their power around and letting it do whatever it wanted. Conjuration was quicker and more efficient than spellcraft, but also extremely basic in function and rather unstable besides. Despite its flaws, conjuration came naturally to most wizards and was the best way for a novice to get a feel for their extraordinary gifts before they moved on to more advanced arcane techniques.
And then there were rituals, which were somewhere between wild magic and spellcraft. They weren’t as risky as the former or as formulaic as the latter, making them extremely flexible. Their main downside was that they had specific, often time-consuming activation requirements that made their use tricky and situational. That was why rituals were used primarily for utility purposes, and every wizard of note had a handful of them in their repertoire. The Sage of the Sands was no different, and her proficiency was readily evident in the imposing saber-tooth that proudly stood at her side. To form a familiar pact with a beast that strong was no small feat, and to not give into its feral influence was even more commendable. Well, it was still too early to tell if their bond would have any detrimental side effects for either Bahm or Fifteen, but things were looking good so far.
The familiar pact was far from the only ritual she knew. The secret amplification technique she used to maximize her firepower was the one she used most frequently. Normally it was a terrible idea to stand still in a giant glowing circle when fighting monsters, but she didn’t need to move if the increased output reduced the threat to ashes before it could get anywhere near. It was a rare case where a ritual’s drawbacks would be trivialized by its benefits in most situations. It was very uncommon for these ceremonies to feel worthwhile to perform, but at the same time had no real competition since rituals could do things neither spells nor wild magic could achieve. One could liken them to scumbag merchants exploiting niche markets.
Thankfully for Fifteen, the church was footing the bill on this little expedition, so she did not hesitate to make use of her brand new scribing kit. On the surface it seemed like an unremarkable stationary set, but only idiots would use it for something as mundane as writing letters. That would be like hiring a mercenary to make toast. These special pens, inks, and scrolls were intended for rituals, and Fifteen was putting them to good use. She carefully drew a sequence of shapes in a specific pattern on a reddish piece of parchment with the help of a gold-tipped quill and a collection of three identical-looking black inks. It was delicate work and her penmanship was a bit rusty, so she chose to do it inside the carriage. The small foldable table by the door provided the best writing surface around and the interior shielded her from any noise or wind that might make her hand slip.
That said, she was unable to completely eliminate her distractions. She was keenly aware of the suspicious stares she got from the soldiers outside since she had no choice but to sit by the window. Well, it was only natural they’d act that way when the person who just said they were short on time decided to lock herself inside a carriage and start doing paperwork. However, their situation wasn’t so urgent that it couldn’t wait a few extra minutes, and she had given the guys other things to do in the meantime. They obviously weren’t happy about any of it since Fifteen barely explained anything, but they’d figure things out soon enough, so she tried her best to ignore their unspoken complaints.
When the sorceress emerged from the carriage with rolled-up scroll in hand she made a beeline over to where the guards were still oiling up their spears, swords, and shields. Brother Tacitus was off to the side, sitting cross-legged on the ground while leaning on his massive sword. He said he was praying or meditating or some such, but Fifteen suspected he was actually napping. He did that a lot, from what she saw. Well, not that it mattered, so long as the others made sure he got the message.
“Gentlemen,” she spoke to the group. “I will now conduct a ritual. It will make me look sick, but I’ll be fine, so don’t touch me until I’m done. Got it?”
As expected, they were weirded out even more and gave each other questioning glances, but a quick grunt from the nearby witch hunter quickly reminded them they didn’t need to worry about anything besides doing what they were told. A quick round of vaguely affirmative responses followed. Fifteen took a few steps back and laid down on a patch of ground where the grass seemed softest. She unrolled her scroll and draped it over her face, inked side up. The guards naturally got curious and craned their necks to see what was on it. As expected, they couldn’t really tell, but it looked remarkably like a drawing of an eye with four wings in a cross-shaped pattern.
Still gripping the edges of the parchment, Fifteen channeled her inner fire into it through her fingertips. There was a quiet hiss as the edges of the scroll began to char, yet it was the ink that released smoke. Frankly speaking, it was an awful lot of smoke for remarkably little fire. The thick and dark fumes coalesced into a dense ball about as big as a plum. It hovered in the air just above the mage’s covered face before several protrusions extended outward from it. It vanished into thin air immediately after, but in that one instant the silhouette looked almost identical to the winged eyeball that used to be on the scroll. The drawing was still there as scorch marks, though it would seem the actual ink used to make it had evaporated.
The sorceress then started acting weird. Though her hands held the burnt parchment firmly against her face, the rest of her began to flail and jerk awkwardly. Her torso twisted, her legs kicked, and her elbows swung all over the place. It seemed like she couldn’t decide if she wanted a nightmare or a seizure, so she decided to get both. It was only natural someone would go over and see if she was alright if she hadn’t warned them otherwise. The guards were still worried, of course. Who wouldn’t be in this situation? Though, their concerns had nothing to do with the woman’s wellbeing. She herself stated she’d be fine and her big furry friend showed no sign of agitation. What caused the soldiers distress was the larger picture.
“Something about this don’t sit right,” one grumbled quietly.
“What, you mean Lady Sage?” his friend asked in a whisper.
“Eh, no, she’s alright. Bit weird, but a bloody saint compared to the regulars.”
He thumbed at the asylum gates in the distance, prompting his buddy to chuckle.
“I’ll say. I lost count of how many times I’ve been threatened with my ‘imminent doom’ or something.”
In truth, ‘threat’ was too strong a word for those delusional ramblings. Roderick Asylum was an institution that housed relatively mild cases of power madness, mages who were all talk and no action. No intention, either. They just said those things because they weren’t well, so labeling them as ‘threats’ was rather misleading. However, these guards were simple folk and just called things like how most people would see them.
“So, what were you talking about if not Lady Sage?”
“Well, the outbreak. They say this moon fever or whatever is a sickness that only mages get, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“If that’s true, how and when did it get in here? I mean, we hadn’t had new patients in months.”
“We had some visitors though, no? Pretty sure a few of ‘em were sparkle-fingers. Maybe one of those guys was sick and didn’t know it.”
“That can’t be right. Didn’t you hear what the Sage said earlier? If one of those freaks on the inside got to her, she’d turn into one of them in like a minute.”
“Huh. That’s a good point.”
That was why the guards were instructed to mind the flanks and rear while the witch hunter took point and the sorceress provided fire support from the middle. That said, they weren’t expected to do much fighting and were mostly there to act as guides, laborers, and meat shields. It seemed a bit degrading, but it wasn’t as if their mundane arsenal could harm the afflicted nor would their armor protect them from the enemy’s magic. The weapon oils they were given were supposed to help the Sage channel her magic somehow, but they hadn’t been told exactly how. All they knew for certain was that these things reeked of something awful. Also, the weird paint they were ordered to smear on their shields would take a lot of scrubbing to come off.
“Then there’s the timing of it. Isn’t it odd that this happened just after a bunch of big-shot robes went off on some secret expedition?”
There had been no official statement on that matter, but with so many influential names involved it was inevitable that rumors would spread. They claimed that the people in question were being called in to deal with some huge problem that would take months to solve and the church wanted everything kept hush-hush. Probably something to do with leftovers from the War of the Ancients out in the dust zones. It was a popular topic among the men stationed at Roderick Asylum since it provided some much-needed explanation as to why the church wasted nearly two weeks bringing in someone from the frontier.
“Okay, I think I see what you mean,” his friend sighed. “It’s pretty strange now that you mention it.”
“Right? It ain’t just me being paranoid.”
“Thing is, can we even do something about it?”
“Uhhh…”
There really wasn’t.
“Exactly. So stop worrying about stuff you can’t change and focus on the job.”
“That’s fair, but I still don’t like it. Should at least tell the witch hunter and his lady friend.”
“We are not friends.”
Fifteen’s annoyed voice suddenly cut through the hushed conversation, making both men jump in place and waking Brother Tacitus from his prayer-nap.
“S-sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean no offense.”
“Did your ritual finish, ma’am?” his friend quickly changed the subject.
“Yes. I have spotted twenty-two afflicted individuals roaming the asylum grounds. Majority must be indoors.”
“You, uh, spotted them, ma’am?”
From his perspective the weird woman just thrashed around on the ground for a while then suddenly started talking like she knew everything. His ignorance was natural since he had no idea she’d conducted a clairvoyance ritual to scout the area out. It created an invisible doll of magical energy which could relay information about its surroundings back to its caster in real time. All that flailing around was simply a byproduct of Fifteen’s efforts to remotely control the puppet’s flight path, and between it and those maps she saw earlier she had a pretty good grasp of the lay of the land.
Of course, this being a ritual, it came with some annoying caveats. The first was that the expensive ink and parchment needed to conduct it had gone up in smoke. The second was that it was fundamentally fire magic, so the only thing it could perceive from its surroundings was heat. Living things stood out like a sore thumb, but inanimate objects were practically invisible without the sun’s light to heat them up. Furthermore, the delicate construct would immediately dissipate should it crash into something solid or if it got hit by a strong gust of wind, so using it indoors or in unfavorable weather was ill-advised. It was therefore rather fortunate that today’s conditions were just right, otherwise the team would be going in completely blind.
“Magic.”
However, Fifteen had neither the patience nor the desire to explain all that, so she summarized her efforts thusly.
“Well, that’s how it is, lads!” Brother Tacitus merrily declared. “Let’s trust in our sparkly-fingered friend and get moving, assuming you’re all done lubing up?”
A few groans and giggles were mixed in with a slew of affirmative responses as the soldiers put on their war faces and assumed their positions. Two of the men would haul the ruptured cask of medicine and stick close to the sorceress in the middle while another eighteen spread out evenly towards the left, right, and rear flanks. The remaining soldiers would stay behind to mind and operate the gate from the outside. Formation assumed and preparations done, the assault– no, the rescue operation on Roderick Asylum finally commenced.
Not even half a minute later the group encountered their first afflicted individual. Much as Fifteen dreaded, they looked horrifying. Their skin was just as white, dry, and craggy as one might expect from a piece of moon-rock. It was as if all the moisture in their bodies was concentrated in the bulbous pustules on both shoulders, right thigh, and left side of their chest. The growths were mostly spherical in shape and varied in size, though even the smallest was as large as a melon. The pustules also seemed to emit a faint yellow glow from between cracks in the craggy skin, almost like Fifteen’s own blood vessels whenever her inner flame flared up. No, wait, it wasn’t ‘almost’ that, but exactly it. This afflicted individual clearly shared her elemental aptitude, judging by that gigantic fireball he suddenly hurled at the group.
“Ignum trionis.”
Thankfully it was just a wad of conjured wild magic, so Fifteen was able to easily counter-spell it well before it reached them. The soldiers couldn’t help but cheer as the huge mass of heat suddenly flew upwards and vanished into a harmless puff of smoke, though their voices were overpowered by the full-volume laughter of Brother Tacitus going to work. The witch hunter covered the thirty paces between him and the target in just a few seconds. He dashed straight through the jets of flame that erupted from the afflicted’s palms and slammed the flat of his greatsword into the side of their head with enough force to utterly pulverize a human skull. Because of the curse, however, the only thing the mighty blow achieved was to knock the target off-balance. Tacitus let go of his weapon and used both hands to seize the afflicted by the arms, stretching them out sideways and lifting their owner up like a scarecrow. The victim gurgled and groaned loudly, but any resistance they conjured flew off harmlessly to the sides.
“Ignum adcurata fracta dionis.”
The sorceress peppered her restrained target with a volley of bright orange beams that struck all of its front-facing pustules. The growths ruptured in a shower of red sparks and sticky crimson fluids while the afflicted roared and wailed in an inhumanly high-pitched voice reminiscent of nails on a blackboard. The witch hunter wrapped one arm around their face to muffle their screams while the other turned them around and exposed their back to Fifteen.
“Ignum adcurata dionis.”
A single clean shot saw the final growth ruptured, after which the afflicted went limp in the knight’s powerful grip. The witch hunter’s other arm moved quickly as he removed four large steel syringes from his belt and thrust one into each oozing wound. It only took mere seconds for the rock-like layer of skin to peel away and reveal the poor soul trapped within. He was an elderly man, maybe around his sixties. It was hard to tell who he was since the curse had left him severely emaciated and deprived him of his hair, yet one of the guards recognized him instantly.
“Hey, that’s Roger!”
“You know our lucky winner?” the witch hunter yelled back.
“Yeah! We used to play checkers when I was on break!”
“Great! He’s your problem now! Think fast!”
“Wha– Wait!”
Brother Tacitus flung that elderly man through the air like a life-sized ragdoll, forcing the guy who had just ‘volunteered’ to drop his weapons and scramble to catch him. He was… moderately successful. Though he fell to the ground in the process, neither of them were injured.
“Nice catch! Hahahaha!”
“Are you nuts?!”
“No, I’m Tacitus! HA HA HA HA!”
The words ‘fucking lunatic’ were about to spill out of the guard’s mouth when Fifteen’s voice cut through.
“Focus. More are coming.”
A group of four were drawn in by that piercing shriek and roaring laughter. Just like the first one, each of them had several pustules growing along their bodies at random spots. They also lashed out with their conjuration, revealing three of them as earth mages. They launched a spray of rocks that battered against the formation’s armored right flank like a volley of arrows. Most were pebbles that bounced off armor and shields, though one or two burrowed themselves in vulnerable spots. Painful, but far from lethal. There was also a rather sizable boulder mixed in with the barrage, but the guards were able to duck out of the relatively slower projectile’s way.
“Ignum perpeta quatris.”
Fifteen’s next spell revealed the purpose of those fancy oils as one of the soldiers’ weapons suddenly ignited with a brilliant blaze. She could have enchanted the spear directly, but the magic-conductive alchemical substance required less of her inner fire and achieved a longer-lasting burn. The recipient was obviously startled, but managed to maintain his cool and instantly grasped what he needed to do. He charged at the enemy rock-throwers without hesitation, trusting that either the superhuman witch hunter or that clearly talented mage would provide cover. Both answered his expectations magnificently.
“THINK FAST, CHUCKLENUTS!”
“Ignum expulso dionis.”
Tacitus plowed into the enemy group from one side while a controlled explosion on the opposite end knocked them off-balance. The simple soldier was thus able to reach the feral mages and deftly used his burning spear to skewer at their pustules. He noticed another one of his allies was running over to back him up, wielding a freshly-ignited polearm. Naturally, all of them carried antidote syringes. With the two soldiers and the witch hunter pressuring the afflicted, they would surely be able to subdue and cure them without too much trouble. Unfortunately, they momentarily forgot about the fourth target who stayed further in the back and had yet to make a move. The rescue team’s luck took another downturn as it was revealed this final target was, in fact, still capable of chanting.
“Hrugh thrak to-grath!”
They were unlike any words of power Fifteen had ever heard, but it was definitely an incantation. Its effects were revealed by the sudden screams and heavy bleeding from the first warrior who charged in. This one was a water mage, and the spell they just cast was one of many hemorrhaging incantations. It looked gruesome, but actually was relatively weak compared to what the other elements could do. The bloodletting was definitely deadly, but didn’t work as fast as a lightning bolt to the face. Of course, it’d be another story if it was raining or there happened to be a river or lake for the hydromancer to use as ammunition.
“Two from the rear, drag him back here!”
The sorceress was used to high-stress situations so she was able to keep her cool and belted out orders in-between spells. A pair of her troops went to do as she said while the others maintained formation around her. The men were clearly unsure if it was wise to hold back in this situation, and it was clear the sorceress had a lot to learn about the whole leadership thing. However, it soon dawned on them that they’d only get in the way if they rushed in without thinking. As unnerving as the afflicted were, the soldiers were far more wary of catching strays from the flame-flinger in their midst.
Brother Tacitus had no such qualms and strayed into Fifteen’s line of fire without hesitation. He figured he’d be fine catching the tail end of a few spells since he had his heat-resistant cloak and the sorceress was minimizing her output. The knight made the newly-revealed water mage his target and drew their attention away from the others. The afflicted tried to rupture his blood vessels like before, but was met with far less. Even though the chants were completed despite being on the receiving end of a savage beatdown, the worst they did was inflict some shallow cuts that barely qualified as injuries.
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This was because the witch hunter hadn’t been napping while Fifteen was scrying. It was safe to assume at least some of the sixty-something afflicted in the asylum would wield water magic, so he had used a special elixir meant to fortify himself against their invasive influence. The ‘nap’ was just him trying to metabolize the mixture so it would be fully effective by the time sparks started flying. He would have distributed the potion to the rest of the men, but he didn’t have that many vials on hand, not to mention it was liable to kill anyone without a witch hunter’s ‘blessings.’
The real issue was subduing a target he couldn’t injure even if he tried. He could certainly knock the afflicted around, but unless his greatsword received the same treatment as the guards’ weapons, it wouldn’t be able to puncture those pustules. Unfortunately, said greatsword’s magic-resistant plating made it so the fiery enchantment wouldn’t work too well even with alchemical assistance. He could simply use his backup blade, but then he’d be far less effective at defending against the enemy’s attacks, and his role in this formation was to endure and mitigate the worst that the afflicted mages could throw at him. This defense-focused strategy wouldn’t be a problem since he had such capable backup and the enemy was too feral to realize they could just ignore him, but this water wizard was different. He was clearly more cognizant and in control than the others, given that he could chant spells and actually made efforts to evade and defend himself like a normal person would.
So, rather than wait for the genius moon-zombie to figure things out, Tacitus decided it was time to use one of his special tools. He tackled the afflicted to the ground and produced a set of lead-lined manacles from a pack under his cloak. He quickly cuffed them around both wrists, binding them together behind the target’s back. That was usually enough to prevent the use of conjuration, but stopping them from chanting required a more creative solution. Simply choking them out wouldn’t work since these things didn’t really need to breathe. A lead collar wouldn’t be much help either since spells didn’t ‘flow’ the same way as wild magic did. One of the asylum’s special full-body straitjackets would do the trick, but the witch hunter didn’t exactly have one on hand, nor could he feasibly force the afflicted into one. The knight’s on-the-spot solution was to shove his armored fingers in the afflicted’s mouth while maintaining a submission hold. It wasn’t enough to completely shut down the chanting, but plenty to cut the invoked spells’ power by half or more.
Thanks to his timely intervention, the two guards with enchanted weapons and the sorceress were able to subdue the other three targets without serious injury and rushed over to neutralize the abnormal one as well. The antidote was administered and the victims returned to normal, though they looked just as weak as the old man from before. Brother Tacitus wasn’t lying – they really didn’t have enough time left to go back and get a fresh batch of medicine. Though, whether they’d simply expire or the transformation would become permanent wasn’t quite clear. Fifteen hoped she wouldn’t have to find out which was which.
With the enemy subdued, the group’s attention turned to the injured soldier. He was in a horrible state. Removing his undamaged armor revealed a huge wound across his chest that looked impossible to close with the first aid kits they had on hand. The sorceress had to cauterize it much as she did her own leg when that dragon bit it off. The poor lad couldn’t help but pass out from the searing pain. He was still breathing, but it was uncertain if he’d make it even with the recovery potion he was given. At best the concoction would stabilize his condition and he’d wake up in a day or two with a cool scar and a story to match. One way or another, he was out of action and had to be carted off alongside the rescued patients.
The first engagement was about as messy as anticipated. Losing a man this early was bad, but there were no fatalities and five mages were saved from the curse. Though mixed, results like this were encouraging. Once things settled down and the adrenaline began to fade, Fifteen couldn’t help but drop to her knees and pant heavily. She was no stranger to combat, but this was the first time she was responsible for so many people, and the weight of that responsibility proved quite exhausting indeed.
“You alright, ma’am?” one of the grunts asked.
“Yes. Just… need… a moment,” she replied between breaths.
“Take your time, don’t think we’ll be getting any company for a while.”
“By the way, miss,” another soldier approached, “where’s your pet?”
Fifteen threw him a sharp glare, though its impact was greatly diminished by her collapsed posture and covered face.
“Bahm is no pet. He is my partner.”
“Uh, okay? My bad. Where is he, though?”
“Hunting. He will return shortly. Get your syringes ready.”
Sure enough, barely a minute later the saber-tooth returned, his fearsome fangs clamped around an afflicted’s arm. Even this massive beast’s bite wasn’t powerful enough to break the craggy skin, yet all of his prey’s pustules had been popped. The grunts didn’t even question it and rushed to administer the medicine. It only took them a few seconds, but Bahm was already gone without a trace by then. The asylum grounds had a fair number of trees, bushes, and gardens, so there was plenty of cover for the surprisingly sneaky feline to utilize. He was already back with another subdued victim by the time everyone else had regrouped and refilled their spent syringes.
“Seven happy customers in under five minutes. Now that’s what I call premium service!”
Brother Tacitus was in high spirits as usual, though for once it wasn’t just him. Any concerns or doubts the others had about the operation were already forgotten despite the critical injury one of them sustained. They eagerly turned to Fifteen for further guidance as soon as they were ready to set out.
“Where to next, ma’am?”
The one who addressed her was the same guy who asked about her familiar earlier. This guy liked to ask a lot of questions, and only now did it occur to the sorceress he was probably this group’s leader before she kind of assumed control. His cooperation was appreciated, but… what was his name, again? Actually, she never asked, did she? Better late than never.
“Sorry, who are you?”
“Uh, Barett Evans, ma’am. I’m the oldest guard here.”
He was probably referring to his seniority at this post, rather than his past-his-prime age.
“You know the asylum grounds?”
“Like the inside of my eyelids, ma’am.”
“What’s the large building on the east side?”
The map she was looking at earlier only noted it as ‘decommissioned.’
“It used to be a chapel, but it’s so run-down they had to seal it off a few years back.”
“How sealed off is it?”
“Doors and windows were boarded up. Why?”
“There might be a survivor inside.”
“Truly?!”
“Might be, but yes.”
The clairvoyance ritual revealed a curious heat signature from inside the structure. The afflicted had an unnaturally low body temperature, but this one felt as warm as a healthy human.
“However, it’s surrounded by nine hostiles, with a few more strays dangerously nearby. Any suggestions on how to approach?”
“Uh, hm… Not really. The grounds around it are just like everywhere else. That partner of yours – Bahm, was it? He might be able to sneak about, but it’s impossible for us.”
“Unfortunate.”
It was clear she didn’t want to just charge in there, and Barett agreed. If just four of the afflicted caused this much of a mess, facing nine or maybe more at once could inflict heavy casualties. The worst part was that it was impossible to tell what kind of magic the enemy had until it was already flying at them. If they knew that, then surely a professional wizard and a veteran witch hunter would be able to teach the grunts some basic countermeasures. Surely the Lady Sage already knew that, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.
“I don’t suppose there’s any way to bait their magic out?”
“There is, but it’s basically suicide.”
“Did someone say suicide mission?!”
An unnervingly thrilled Tacitus appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
“I love those!”
Fifteen groaned, but she had to admit, it wasn’t the worst idea. From what she heard back in Cherrytown, this guy charged straight at the witch-occupied mansion over incredibly exposed ground, yet none of their spells managed to hit. Allegedly he even parried a lightning bolt. Assuming this pack of afflicted had one or two abnormals capable of chanting while the rest mindlessly threw their wild magic around, their collective firepower probably wasn’t that much greater than the aforementioned group’s. Tacitus could probably handle it. Apparent death wish aside, there was no denying he knew what he was doing. Actually, if he was going to serve as bait, then it might be a good idea to get Bahm to take down the one or two abnormal afflicted while they were focused on the witch hunter. Subduing the rest after would take time, but shouldn’t prove too difficult. Once that entire group was dealt with, there’d be only eight relatively isolated targets left wandering the asylum grounds. That still meant forty-one mages were indoors and most were likely concentrated inside the main building, but they’d cross that bridge when they got to it.
For the moment, the rescue team decided to go with the bait plan. Or rather, they had no choice now that Brother Tacitus caught wind of it. It was both encouraging and worrisome that he was so eager to make himself a target, but Fifteen and Barett agreed it was the best option. As expected, the grounds around the chapel plunged into chaos as soon as the witch hunter made his appearance. With so many afflicted it was inevitable there was at least one mage of every element, though a whopping five out of the nine were revealed as flame-flingers. This statistical anomaly didn’t sit well with Fifteen. She’d heard stories and rumors, but it would seem her kind really were more predisposed towards power madness. On the upside, their wild magic was simple for Brother Tacitus to deal with. Flames didn’t impede him physically like rock shrapnel or gale-force winds, so he could charge right through. The water mages proved even less of a threat since their conjuration was completely neutralized by his resistance elixir. If not for that concoction, he’d be plagued by auditory and visual hallucinations that might cause him to confuse allies with enemies.
As Fifteen suspected, an abnormal was indeed mixed in with this batch – a fire mage like herself. She wasn’t confident in facing this one, however. Countering that first guy’s wild magic wasn’t too different from dealing with a fire-spewing monster, but she’d never traded spells with another wizard. Only witches and guild-appointed enforcers did that kind of thing, and she was neither. She still had some theoretical knowledge on dueling from her academy days, so she wasn’t completely clueless, just inexperienced. It didn’t help that this foe’s chants were completely foreign to her, just like the first abnormal’s. She seemed to have the advantage in terms of raw power so she could just overwhelm him with brute force if push came to shove, though doing so would drain her inner fire. It was also ill-advised to make herself a target since exposure to an afflicted’s magic could spread the curse to her even if it wasn’t a direct hit.
Fortunately, there was no need for that kind of clash since she had the foresight of asking Bahm for help. The saber-tooth had been getting accustomed to his own wild magic ever since his inner flame awakened in that elemental-infested hot-spring. So far he could manifest it in three ways. The first was a literal calorie burn that gave him a tremendous boost in overall physical ability for a short time. A strengthening technique like that was outside the domain of Fifteen’s repertoire and typically fell within the purview of aeromancy and alchemy, but Bahm was a monster. It was foolish to assume he’d have the same limits as humans did. That said, the saber-tooth also wasn’t built for using the classic flame breath move, which was his second option. He hated it since it burned his tongue and cheeks, and Fifteen could relate. Besides, that kind of thing was a bit too lethal for this situation.
Conversely, Bahm’s third and final magic trick was perfect for precision takedowns. It manifested a burst of concentrated heat in the wake of his swipes. Visually and functionally it was almost indistinguishable from setting his claws on fire, yet without risk of self-inflicted burns. He combined it with his innate strength boost to instantly eliminate the abnormal afflicted by pouncing on them from a distant hedge and ripping through their pustules with a flurry of blazing swipes. The sight of the sizzling saber-tooth moving at such insane speeds was almost awe-inspiring, even from the assault team’s concealed position on the other end of the mostly open garden. It all happened so quickly that the other afflicted didn’t even notice one of their own had been incapacitated, preoccupied as they were with the cackling knight running about.
With the threats identified and the biggest one subdued, Fifteen and the guards rushed in to provide backup. As expected, it was still a messy fight, but knowing what they were getting into made all the difference. The large-scale commotion also pulled in a few of the wandering afflicted, but sorceress sicced her familiar on them before they could disrupt the team’s formation. All in all, it took a few minutes for things around the chapel to settle down and another thirteen mages were successfully cured in this one push. The guards sustained some minor injuries in the process, but would’ve been in far worse shape if not for the magic-repellent lead paint Fifteen had them smear on their shields. In terms of armaments, the two weapons the sorceress enchanted earlier had gone out, so she had to ignite another four to help deal with the number of enemies. Those would also expire before they ran into more trouble, which left the group with another twenty or so oiled-up arms.
There would be plenty of time to take stock of supplies and resources later. For the moment, the rescue team had an unforeseen issue to deal with – what to do with all these unconscious people? They had the first group brought back to the gates for evacuation since they were so close, but that wasn’t a feasible solution for this bunch. The asylum grounds were just too vast to keep going back and forth like that while they were short on time, and they obviously couldn’t leave the rescued mages out in the open. The risk of another afflicted stumbling upon them was too high. For the moment, Barett had his friends gather the unconscious and frail patients with the intent of bringing them inside the old chapel. Not immediately, of course. They had to make sure the building was secure first, not to mention find this potential survivor.
The chapel’s interior was, to put it bluntly, in a dire state. Everything was made out of wood that was so old and rotten it truly was a miracle the entire place hadn’t collapsed under its own weight. The floorboards creaked, the walls were cracked, and barely any glass remained in the tall windows on either side of the main chamber. No wonder they had to be boarded up so thoroughly – wouldn’t want mentally unstable mages stumbling in here and hurting themselves. The roof was in a sorry state as well, given the numerous yet tiny holes in it. Incidentally, those were the main source of natural light. The sun was quite high up at the moment, so none of its rays were able to enter through the gaps in the window-boards. The few beams of golden radiance that fell through the tall ceiling were so thin they couldn’t hope to dispel the dark and ominous atmosphere that ruled the main chamber. The only thing it accomplished was to highlight the high content of dust in the air, though there was plenty of that all over the floor, pews, and altar as well.
“Hello?! … You sure someone’s in here, ma’am?”
Barett expressed some doubts as he entered the chapel alongside Fifteen. The sorceress had placed herself in charge and the senior guard seemed familiar with all the asylum’s residents, so they were the natural choice to investigate the interior while the rest of the rescue team handled things outside. As for the man’s question, it had a simple answer.
“Fairly.”
The ‘blip’ she ‘saw’ earlier seemed like a healthy human, but the clairvoyance ritual couldn’t penetrate the old timber walls too well with just a fly-by and she had too much ground to cover to risk going in for a closer look.
“Where could they have gone?” she asked.
“Not a clue. Maybe they slipped out in all the commotion?” the guard offered.
“Maybe, but why?”
“That… is a very good question.”
If they really were a survivor – someone from the asylum staff most likely – then they would surely be jumping for joy at the sight of a rescue team. It was understandable they’d want to stay hidden with all the excitement outside, but their continued reluctance to show themselves now was extremely suspicious.
“Someone was definitely in here, though. Look here, ma’am,” Barett knelt, pointing down. “Footprints in the dust. Should we follow?”
“No. I’ve a better idea.”
“Yeah? What?”
The sorceress jerked her head to the side and when Barett turned in that direction he nearly had a heart attack.
“Fuck! Prophet preserve me, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
Bahm had a feeling he might be needed – humans were rather helpless in the dark, after all – so he invited himself inside. His monstrous senses also warned him there was some weird magic inside this building, hence why he was prowling around so quietly.
Someone is hiding in here. Find them.
Fifteen’s predictable request was a trifling matter for an apex predator. Though the air was full of dust and strange smells that rendered the saber-tooth’s nose useless, his keen eye and sharp ears were able to confirm a foreign presence. The massive feline suddenly broke out into a dead sprint towards one of the tall, boarded-up windows. He deftly clambered up, powerful legs and sturdy claws turning the small gaps between the vertical planks into a makeshift ladder. He reached a height of about three meters in the blink of an eye and then pushed off. His body twisted around with far too much grace for its size, allowing him to land deftly on the thick rafters overhead. The thick beam creaked ominously under his weight, but seemed to hold it well enough.
A rapid series of thuds drew Fifteen and Barett’s attentions to the other side of the chapel’s spacious roof, away from the entrance. Someone was definitely hopping from beam to beam up there, but the poor lighting made it hard to see anything besides a fluttering robe or cloak. Bahm promptly gave chase, navigating the wide gaps between those narrow footholds as if they were branches of the ancient trees in his home forest. The guard reflexively drew his sword and the sorceress tracked the stranger from the ground floor with her staff. No spells were chanted, though, as she had faith that no mere human could outrun her familiar. The apex predator did not disappoint as he closed the distance in the blink of an eye, yet this opponent proved quite tricky indeed. Just as Bahm was about to catch up, they stabbed a short blade of some kind into the vertical beam they were standing on and rapidly dashed to its other end.
When the massive feline landed on their previous position, the freshly-cracked timber gave way with a massive snap just as the stranger leapt back towards the entrance. The saber-tooth tumbled to the ground and landed on his feet, but the floorboards gave way and he ended up almost falling through the floor. It took every effort the saber-tooth could make to cling to the rotting timber on the edge of the hole and would take him some time to pull himself out of it. Meanwhile the suspect moved rapidly towards the largest hole in the roof, just above the now-open entrance. The gap was just wide enough for a person to squeeze through, and in retrospect was likely how this individual got into the sealed building. Their path would carry them more or less over the two people still on the ground, but the stranger clearly wasn’t too concerned.
“Halt! In the king’s name, I order you to reveal yourself!”
Barett raised his sword and threatened the suspect, which proved about as effective as expected. As pointless as his gesture was, there was nothing else he could do. His standard-issue crossbow might’ve given him some options, but he left it behind since it was just dead weight against the afflicted. He looked to the mage for direction or orders, only to find her in a most concerning pose. Both hands gripping her staff and yellow robes fluttering in a mysterious yet hot draft – that was unquestionably her casting stance. The realization filled Barett with a surge of panic, though not because she was about to launch a harmful spell at another person. That was one of the greatest sins a sanctioned mage could commit, so it was a good thing that didn’t seem to be her intention.
What concerned the older man was that a Named Mage was pointing the business end of her staff at her own feet, no more than three paces from where he was standing.
“Ignum adcurata–”
“Wait!”
“–expulso–”
“Fuck!”
“–dionis!”
The man had been paying attention in their prior engagements and recognized the spell as an explosive one a split second before it went off. He hit the deck like his life depended on it and, sure enough, the dreadful roar of point-blank pyromancy invaded his ears and rattled his bones. As he lay on the filthy ground with his eyes shut and teeth clenched, it suddenly occurred to him that the blast didn’t feel as… intense as he was expecting. He then heard the sound of two bodies hitting the floor – one with far less grace than the other – followed by a stream of pained gasps and grunts.
“Are you alr– Oh.”
Quickly scrambling to his feet, Barret turned around to find a surprising yet welcome sight. The Lady Sage stood triumphantly atop the apprehended suspect, golden robes wreathed in trailing smoke and lingering embers. She had her sizzling brass foot against his upper back while the flat bottom of her freshly-broken staff pressed down on the back of his skull. The guy struggled, but she had him firmly pinned against his stomach. Barett had absolutely no idea how the two of them ended up like that, especially since the cloaked stranger was remarkably not on fire. The same could be said of the chapel. Even though an explosion went off, there was no visible damage aside from a hand-sized circle of dull-red embers where the sorceress stood moments ago.
*CRASH*
“You rang!?”
“Gah, what now?!”
The senior guard received another bad shock as a certain someone burst through one of the boarded-up windows with a quip. In hindsight, he should have expected that the sudden boom and flash of fire magic would draw the witch hunter’s attention, but did he really have to make such a messy entrance? All that smoke and dust in the air were bad enough without the addition of splinters and nails. Shrapnel aside, Tacitus’s antics provided a convenient knight-shaped hole for daylight to flood in and disperse some of the mystery surrounding the prone stranger’s identity. He was a man of average build and height for a midlander, and every part of his black attire screamed ‘thief’ and ‘burglar.’ The only thing that didn’t fit the shady theme was a smooth mask of off-white stone with a peculiar red pattern on the right cheek. Barett, Tacitus, and Fifteen only caught a glimpse of that marked profile before things took another sudden turn.
“Narvak ruk Logoth!”
The suspect’s yell caused that crimson sigil to light up with an intense glow, and everyone reflexively covered their faces. A disgusting squelch filled the abandoned chapel as the man’s head erupted from the inside, spraying bits of his brain and skull all over the place. A few drops of blood flew so far that they even reached the spot where Bahm had just pulled himself free of the collapsing floor. As the one closest to the filthy firework, Fifteen caught the worst of it. When Barret laid eyes on her next, she was doubled over on all fours and dry-heaving like a sick goat. The guard watched with rapidly mounting horror as the tips of her fingers turned from a rich bronze to a rocky gray and her entire body began to shake violently.
“Tacitus! Catch!”
The older man made a split-second decision as he tossed one of the steel syringes on his belt to the witch hunter. The jolly armored giant was fast on the uptake. He snatched the implement out of the air and within the blink of an eye that steel needle was buried in the spasming Sage’s shoulder. She lashed out with a feral grunt and then immediately went limp. It wasn’t until her digits returned to their usual dark hue that Barett allowed himself to breathe again. It had barely been more than twenty seconds since Bahm made his move, yet the ordeal drained him more than running a lap around the asylum grounds.
“That was quick thinking, Mr. Evans!” the witch hunter gave him a thumbs-up. “Good throw, too!”
“Yeah,” he weakly returned the gesture. “Any time.”
For better or worse, the guard had seen some of the patients turn before, so he immediately recognized the signs of the moon fever taking over. He wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to administer the serum in time and had no idea if Brother Tacitus had a chance to restock on it, so he was really proud of himself that he did not hesitate. Having the Sage of the Sands fall under that cursed disease’s influence would’ve been the worst-case scenario. She was clearly a cut above the other patients, and he dreaded to think what horrible things she’d do if she lost control. That decapitated can of worms on the floor still needed to be addressed, of course, but it was far from the soldier’s primary concern at the moment.
“Is she going to be alright?”
“Well,” Tacitus spoke as he casually picked Fifteen up. “I have good news and bad news.”
“What’s the good news?”
“We don’t need to worry about her going full ‘imminent doom’ on us for a while.”
“Right, yeah.”
The witch hunter mentioned something about that when he was briefing the guards earlier. In addition to purging the magical disease, the serum would also prevent repeat infections for one to three days after. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be used as a preventative measure since it was extremely toxic to anyone who wasn’t afflicted. Barett had no idea how or why it worked that way, but knowing those details wouldn’t change anything.
“So, uh, when’s she waking up?”
“Hmmhm. Hah-heh. Hee hee hee.”
Though Tacitus didn’t answer with words, his quiet, ominous giggles made one thing clear.
“Well… shit.”
The bad news was that it wouldn’t be anytime soon.